Page 70 of The Faking Game

I look around, my hand still grasped in his. People are milling about, drinking, talking. Two are making out. There are curtains hanging from the low ceiling, creating little partitions, hidden alcoves.

A woman with strawberry blonde hair stands by an opening across the room, holding a martini.

Is that…?

She turns, and her eyes find mine.

Amber.

She looks past me at where West is still talking to someone. She holds a finger to her lips.

I nod.I won’t tell him.

Amber smiles quickly and then slips out around the corner, disappearing from the room, unseen by her brother. I’m more curious now than ever. Amber’s here? Vivienne didn’t mention that, but she mentioned Rafe. And if West shouldn’t know either…

Maybe she snuck in somehow.

I have to ask her about it one day.

The music is too loud to make out West’s conversation, so I keep looking around. There’s a man leaning against the wall right beside us. He’s got dirty blond hair, and his black silk shirt hangs open, showing off his abs.

He crooks a finger, motioning for me to join him. There’s a wide smirk on his lips.

Oh.

I give a little shrug that’s neither yes nor no.

“You look parched,” he says. “Let me grab you a drink. Come play with us.”

He nods toward an alcove I hadn’t spotted before. It’s half hidden with draped fabric, and there are already two people inside. A woman is sitting between a man’s splayed legs, and his large hand is gripping one of her breasts.

They’re both looking our way.

“Um, you and your friends?” I ask.

“We have room for you too, gorgeous.”

The hand on mine tightens suddenly, and then West is beside me again. “She’s taken.”

The other man holds up his hands with a grin. “You’re welcome to come play too.”

“I don’t share,” West says darkly and pulls me along. I follow him with a small wave goodbye at the handsome blond. He was willing to have a… fivesome? I don’t even know how that would work logistically.

Maybe after four people, it stops being called a -some and becomes an orgy. I don’t know what the etiquette is. I haven’t even had sex with one person.

We walk beneath an archway, and a large room opens up. At the center is another poker table, mirroring the one above, and I realize it has to be in the same position as the one we saw upstairs.

As above, so below.

The table is full. Some players look at their cards, others at their opponents. A Black woman wears a gorgeous dress, with red feathers attached along sleeves that drape over her fingers where she grips her cards.

And they’re all quiet. The only sound comes from the spectators. Because there’s plenty of those, too, draped along the walls.

People are looking at us.

West isn’t a stranger to these games, I’m sure of it. He leads me through the stares to the only seat still free. It’s a single high-backed chair in an alcove, velvet curtains pulled back.

We pass a tray on the way.

---